More Than Fine
by The Madhatter2
Summary: Post 4x03 spoilers. House's reaction to Cuddy's reaction about House's stunt. Did you get that?  [HouseCuddy]


MORE THAN FINE  
By The Madhatter

Disclaimer: House belongs to David Shore, FOX, etc. No infringement intended, nor is there any profit made from this other than my own satisfaction.  
Rating: PG  
Pairing: House/Cuddy, with a generous bit of Wilson and a walk on appearance by Cameron (she wormed her way in)  
Genre: Angst.  
Spoilers: minor 4x01, big 4x03  
Summary: Post 4x03 (97 Seconds). House's reaction to Cuddy's reaction about House's stunt. Did you get that?

A/N: This popped into my head right before I went to sleep. I envisioned this differently a couple nights ago, but when I started writing it, this is what popped out. And I decided that quotation marks were unnecessary as well as spacing and a bit of punctuation. It was new for me. You've been warned. Enjoy! As always, all comments are welcome.

The format is supposed to be weird. Don't worry. It might look better on LiveJournal. There's a link to my fanfic lj on my profile if you'd like to check it out.

-------------

Are we okay?  
Silence.

----

What do you want?  
Are you trying to not-enable me like before? Because, you see, that didn't work out the last time—  
Go do your clinic duty.  
Why must you banish me—  
You're fifteen minutes late.  
You're not going to tell me what's wrong are you?  
No.  
Guess that explains it all.

----

Cuddy's mad, he announces as he barges into Wilson's office.  
Really? Wouldn't have guessed.  
And you are, too, apparently.  
No. I'm _upset_, there's a difference. Cuddy's seething.  
It was an experiment. Like any good scientist, I tested my theory—  
It wasn't just an experiment, House! You nearly died!  
People die all the time performing experiments.  
Those are accidents! _Willingly_ sticking a knife into an electrical socket is not an accident. It's a death wish. Is that what you wanted?  
You think I _wanted_ to die? No one _wants_ to die. It's just one big game. It's all about how you play the cards.

He wrenches the door open.

When you and Cuddy are done _seething_, you know where to find me.

----

That looks like that hurts, Cameron says leaning against the door jam of his office after hours, pointing to his burnt hand.  
Shouldn't you be with your other blonde half?  
Emergency appendectomy. Want me to take care of that for you?  
Sorry, I don't do taken girls.  
Right. You know what I meant. Your hand.  
This thing? He holds it up weakly. I think it's still alive. He wiggles his fingers. Yep. I was right.

His brow furrow as she sits down across from him.

They're just upset, she says.  
Who are we talking about? 'Cause I'm pretty sure my fingers don't feel upset. Maybe a little singed--  
Wilson and Cuddy. They care about you. Love you even.  
Love me? Right. I think that bleach is seeping into your brain.  
You can push them away as much as you want, House, but they're not leaving. Give them time.  
Ha. Right. That was a joke, right? Just like everything else you've been saying?  
Maybe you could show them that you care. I know you do. You could start by apologizing for your actions.

He scowls.

You've used up my quota for annoying advice. You can leave now.

Cameron turns and smiles when she reaches the doorway. You'll see, she says before disappearing.

----

Why are you following me around?  
Are you ever going to talk to me?  
Nope.  
Why not?  
Nope.  
You're still pissed.  
Yep.  
Gonna stop answering in monosyllables?  
Nope.  
Look, I told Wilson—  
Don't care.  
Yes you do! You wouldn't be this upset if you didn't.

The look she gives him sends a sharp searing slice through his chest. He winces.

What do you want me to say? That I care that you almost died for the third time? Confess my hidden, undying love for you? Will that make you feel better?

She sighs.

There are only so many heart attacks I can have in my lifetime, House.

----

How long can you stay mad at a person?

Wilson leans back in the plastic cafeteria chairs and stares thoughtfully.

Well, that depends. Are you asking me how long Cuddy will give you the silent treatment?  
No.  
Have you tried apologizing?  
You sound like Cameron.  
_Cameron_ talked to you?  
Do you ever shut up?

He leans over, swipes Wilson's coffee and takes a gulp.

----

He nervously stands in front of her desk. It's late and it's dark, but she has a few dim lamps on that make him feel like he's in a horror movie. He might as well be, with the steadily building tension in the air that crushes his lungs and dries out his throat; the increasing thumping in his ears that echo around in his head and pulse behind his eyes. He fiddles with his cane, looking everywhere but at her as he tries and tries to get the words out but the silence is so thick he can't possibly talk much less _think_—

Go home, she says. It's late, you shouldn't be here.

He can't get his voice box to vibrate as his mouth opens and closes stupidly.

House?

He fidgets some more; shaking his left arm like he's trying to brush something off his shoulder and bouncing his cane in his right hand. His eyes dart around the room, seeking the bookshelves for answers or possibly for something to pry his tongue from the roof of his mouth and yank out the words that won't come.

He glances up and finds her giving him a questioning look that he can't answer. Her eyes dart to the dark stains that mark his hand and he closes it into a fist out of instinct.

Out of sight, out of mind.

But the anguished look on her face says more than he can handle and he _knows_ he should turn around and leave but he can't. Not when the image of her face like that is burned into his mind.

I—  
Go home.

----

He pulls up in front of her House later that night and rings the doorbell just as obnoxious as the last time. The painful expression on her face can't leave his mind and he _needs_ to put this to rest. He tries not to think too deeply about _why_; it's just something that needs to be done. He doesn't like loose ends.

He gets that strange choking feeling again when she wearily opens the door.

I'm tired, House. I'm not in the mood for whatever crazy reason you're here. Go home.

He shoves his cane in the doorway before she closes it and nudges it open with his shoulder.

House! What the hell are you--

He takes a deep breath—

Are we okay?

Pause.

Goodnight, House.

The swinging door sounds like a gunshot in his ears.

----

Will you talk to me now?  
You have a team for that.  
I need to cut a guy's head open and dig around for a bit. Think a team can sign that off for me?  
You don't have a patient right now.  
Oh-kay. You got me. Can I still do it anyway?  
No. Don't even think about trying to con one of those innocent patients out in the waiting room either.  
I saw a guy holding his head in his hands, it could be a symptom of encephalitis or—  
Or maybe he's got a headache because he has a cold.  
Wow, you could diagnose a cold just by looking! I'm impressed.  
Go. Away. Go do clinic.  
But Mooom! I promise to be nice. I won't do the surgery without asking first.

She sighs.

What do you want, House?  
That's a loaded question, Cuddy. You know better than to—  
House.

He wants to grin because this is familiar. And it's sure as hell better than monosyllables. But – he's still not sure—she _could_ forgive him or—

He hesitates.

Are we okay?  
We will be.


End file.
